I began this blog as a means of communicating messages I thought were beneficial at the time. I soon moved to using it as a platform for sharing writing I’d done. It evolved once more into a place for one-liners, photos, excerpts, and other brief content.

In light of this most recent shift, I’ve decided to switch blogging sites to Tumblr. It seems to me that WordPress is designed in such a way that caters to more wordy posts, while Tumblr works nicely for brevity. I would be honored if you’d continue reading/browsing on the new site.

The 7:05 train was four minutes late. I know this because the number four has all but haunted me for my entire life. Four siblings. Four speeding tickets. Four cigarettes a day. Four one night stands after Jackie called off our engagement. I don’t choose these things; they just happen.

Little did I know, my first day on the train would be the most enjoyable 47 minutes of my life for the nearly three months that followed. I stared out the window like a child in a toy store. The passing landscapes took a hold of me like consumerism held its grasp on the child. Trees appeared taller. Grass seemed greener. The clouds looked like the most expensive cotton balls you can buy at the nearest Walgreens. It was as if nature was rooting for me, and I for it.

The brisk wind that whipped over the river gave away Wednesday’s mood before its ensuing events had the chance. Two bleary wanderers sat in silence on three separate sides of the diner on Crescent. Fried mush and links, scrambled eggs and bacon–their breakfast choices had as much to do with each other as the people eating them did: nothing and everything.

A mix of pop radio songs and Shania Twain hits from a decade prior dropped down from the speakers on the low ceiling. A boy in a red baseball cap sat hunched over his mush, peering up from his plate only to utter “Sure” to Beth Ann’s “More coffee?” inquiries. He was tired; they all were–the bearded 3rd shift worker at the bar top and the early morning waitress stepping outside for the only break she’ll get all day. Even Wednesday’s ghostly wind passing through downtown was worn out. Will we awaken? Thursday is waiting patiently.

She was crossing over 24 today–oversized walker in hand, guiding her across both busy sides of the median. With a hunched back, she allowed her tired little feet to carry her to her destination–or, perhaps, lack there of.

Jesus, I never knew you were so beautiful. Or how little your feet were.

“We are drawn to believe in the good will of athletics because we synonymize good will with good health. We peel our eyes at young men sweating from hard work, dirty from the muddy ground upon which they are not afraid to sacrifice their bodies. We think, ‘These are good men. They are active and they are healthy.’ But they are not healthy. They are poisoned by a violent impulse, a deep craving for victory and triumph. They are deeply ingrained with the need for a loser, and a subsequent need for that loser to be anyone other than themselves.

Though, who can fault them? For it is we who give them their glory. We, with the clap of our hands and the cheer from our lips, profess, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant.'”

I have talented friends who illustrate covers for me and make my writing look far more impressive than it really is.

If you’re interested, there’s a digital copy of this book up on Amazon. It is currently free, and will remain so until August 25, at which time it will take a lofty price jump of 99 cents. More details here.